Category: English

Before dinner, my husband suddenly asked, “What if we stop loving each other? Whether it’s because of someone else, or just… we fall out of love. What happens to us?” I hesitated for a long time. “Maybe divorce is the best answer. You could find someone else.” The truth was, I already knew. I knew about his unusual feelings for that other girl. And I’d already heard him tell her: “Don’t cry. We’ll have a future.” 1 He put his fork down. His face went hard. After a long moment, he forced a laugh. “Tess, I was just kidding.” It wasn’t a joke. I knew. I had known his love. Which is how I knew, with certainty, that what he felt for that girl was real. Earlier today, at the hospital. The doctor, who had been gruff and impatient, read my report and his whole demeanor changed. He lowered his voice. “Don’t be scared. It’s not late-stage. With aggressive treatment, this is manageable.” I was walking out with the diagnosis when I saw them. Liam’s arm was injured. The girl was looking at him, her eyes red with pain. “Why did I have to meet you so late? I can’t even take care of you properly.” Liam looked flustered. Blood was seeping through the new bandage on his arm. He said, “Don’t cry. I’ll give you a future.” The words hung in the air. He froze, as if he regretted saying them. But she believed him. Her nose was red. She looked up at him. “Really?” Liam just frowned. He didn’t speak. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I know Liam. I know his boundaries. As long as he was married to me, his body wouldn’t cross the line. But his heart. I couldn’t control his heart. 2 I wanted to know. What kind of girl was she? What made her better than me in his eyes? I found her profile through his phone. I had to see for myself. I had to see the woman who had so easily destroyed eight years of my life. We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being broke. But we were defeated by a “better girl.” I found her on the university campus. She was exactly what you’d expect. Young, vibrant. An old woman was struggling to collect cans, her back bent. The plastic bag ripped, and empty bottles scattered across the pavement. The girl, in a cream-colored coat, ran over and helped her pick up every single one. She helped the woman carry the heavy bag all the way to the campus recycling center. I followed, like a stalker. Suddenly, footsteps rushed up behind me. A figure blocked my view. I looked up. Liam. His arms were spread, shielding the girl from me, his lips trembling. “Tess, it’s not her fault…” Not her fault. Then whose fault was it? Mine? The girl finally noticed me. She looked over, startled. Our eyes met. She quickly looked away. 3 In a coffee shop. Liam sat across from me, his eyes full of pain. He said, “Tess, I…” He couldn’t continue. I wanted to know, too. Now that I’d found out, what would he choose? Would he end it with the “better girl”? Or would he end it with me? He opened his mouth, and finally, the words came out, strained. “Tess, I… I don’t think I love you anymore.” I didn’t say anything. But my body betrayed me. My eyes burned. He panicked. “Don’t cry…” He just stared at me for a long time before pushing the napkin holder across the table. He let out a breath, like a man relieved of a heavy weight. “Tess, we got together when we were eighteen. It’s been eight years… “I know I’m an asshole. I’m scum. “But Tess… after this long, my love for you… it’s turned into something else. It’s family. “Neither of us can fight that.” I asked him, “And her?” Liam was silent. “Maybe that will change, too. “But… I don’t want to lie to you right now…” He looked up, his voice bitter. “I haven’t done anything… physical. If you want, we can stay married. “But… all I have left to give you is responsibility. And the rest of my time.” How could I describe that feeling? Sadness? Despair? I was a prisoner, drowning. I knew I was going to die, but I had to keep my eyes open and just… wait. We sat in silence. Finally, I spoke. “Let’s schedule a time. We’ll file for divorce.” 4 It was evening when I left the cafe. The sunset was a violent, blinding red. Across the street, someone was hovering. Liam saw her instantly and sprinted over. The girl flinched, her face pale. Liam’s voice was sharp. “Nina, what are you doing here? “I told you to go back to your dorm. Have you been waiting this whole time?” Nina glanced at me, her eyes full of apology. She looked down at her shoes. “I… I was worried about you…” His expression melted. “Don’t overthink it.” Suddenly… An indescribable bitterness flooded my chest. I really thought there was nothing left that could possibly hurt me. 5 “Don’t overthink it.” That’s what he said to me at the bus station, right after graduation. I was sobbing, terrified of the separation. Everyone said graduation equals a breakup. Who could guarantee a long-distance relationship? He turned and hugged me tight. “Tess, don’t overthink it. As soon as I’m settled, I’ll come see you.” The same station. He took a bus north. I took one south. I was in a second-tier city. My first birthday alone, he promised he’d be there. He wasn’t. At 12:37 AM. A knock on my apartment door. He burst in, breathless, and grabbed me. “I tried so hard to make it,” he panted, “but I’m still late.” I found out later he’d spent his last dollar on the bus ticket. He couldn’t afford a cab from the station. He walked. My apartment was eight miles from the bus station. I thought, this is my life. It has disappointments, but the happy endings will come, even if they’re late. I was wrong.

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I am Dr. Evelyn Reed, the nation’s foremost expert in heart transplant surgery. I cut short a research fellowship abroad for an emergency procedure, flying halfway across the world on a moment’s notice. But the second I stepped out of the airport, a mob of women ambushed me in the parking garage, brandishing a massive banner that read: “SHAME THE MISTRESS, SAVE THE MARRIAGE.” They screamed that I was a slut, a homewrecker. Then, they broke my right hand—my golden hand. The woman in charge ground her stiletto into my cheek, her voice a venomous hiss. “You little bitch! You thought you could seduce my billionaire husband? I’ll make sure you’re crippled for life, unable to spread your legs for anyone ever again!” With that, she swung a baseball bat and shattered my left hand too. What she didn’t know was that my hands, the very ones she’d just destroyed, were the only hands in the world that could save her husband’s life. 1 As I entered the underground parking garage, the first thing I saw was the banner: “SHAME THE MISTRESS, SAVE THE MARRIAGE.” The woman holding it, clearly the ringleader, was in the middle of a tearful livestream. “Everyone,” she sobbed, her voice thick with anguish, “I just found out I’m pregnant, and my husband… my husband has a mistress. And she’s not just any mistress. She had the audacity to send me intimate photos of them together!” Her voice cracked. “Because of her, my husband told me to get out of his life, to leave with nothing and never come back!” “I can’t take it anymore!” she wailed. “I just want to die!” She made a dramatic lunge toward a nearby car, but her entourage of friends quickly pulled her back, their faces masks of righteous fury. “Why should you be the one to die? It’s that homewrecker who deserves it, flaunting her nerve in front of the legal wife.” “Don’t be afraid, Isabelle. We’re all on your side. We’ll make that bitch pay!” The group erupted in a cacophony of vicious threats, each more vulgar than the last. I frowned, a flicker of curiosity tempting me to stay, but the emergency surgery was waiting. I had to go. I was scanning the lane numbers for my driver when the entire mob suddenly swarmed towards me. “There she is! We finally found the slut!” “So this is why Matthew has been flying abroad so often! Hiding his little whore in another country! I bet you rushed back to suck up to him for his surgery, didn’t you? Pathetic!” CRACK! Before I could process what was happening, a stinging pain exploded across my cheek. The woman—Isabelle—grabbed a fistful of my hair and began slapping me relentlessly. “You bitch! I’ve finally got you!” She yanked me to the ground, my medical files scattering across the concrete. Her friends egged her on. “Get her, Isabelle! Kill the damn dog! She deserves to be drawn and quartered for seducing another woman’s husband!” It finally clicked. I was the mistress they were talking about. But that was impossible. My life was a blur of labs and operating rooms; I barely had time to shake a man’s hand, let alone become a homewrecker. Fury surged through me. I struggled against Isabelle’s grip, shouting, “I’m not a mistress! You’ve made a mistake—” 2 My words were cut short as Isabelle, like a woman possessed, slammed my head against the ground again and again. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, their murmurs a toxic hum. “Homewreckers deserve whatever they get.” “She looks so clean-cut and proper, though. Why would a woman like that choose to be a mistress?” “Don’t fall for it! It’s all an act. Underneath, she’s just another calculating slut, always looking for a rich man to leech off of.” The world spun, the voices closing in. I thought I was going to vomit. “Stop!” I screamed, my voice raw. “I’m not who you think I am! What you’re doing is illegal!” My protests only fueled their rage. They saw it as defiance, and their blows grew harder. My vision started to blur, the warm stickiness of blood matting my hair. Finally, Isabelle released her grip slightly, sneering down at me. “My husband sent me your little photo shoot himself. You still dare to say you’re not his mistress?” She held up her phone for her livestream audience to see. On the screen was a picture of me in my white lab coat, leaning over the billionaire Matthew Flanagan, my hand placed gently on his lips. The photo had been filtered and cropped to oblivion, creating an image dripping with seductive intimacy. It was the ultimate uniform fetish fantasy. The livestream chat exploded. “OMG, her husband is so hot! No wonder this slut is after him. She should die!” “You can tell by the way she poses she’s a pro at this. Total trash.” “Her boobs are practically in his face! And she still denies it? Isabelle, rip that fox’s tail off!” A week ago, Matthew Flanagan had sought me out, begging me to perform his heart transplant. He suffered from a congenital heart defect and had spent his life searching for a compatible donor. He’d finally found one, but a recent scan revealed a complex tumor growing perilously close to his heart. The surgery to remove it and perform the transplant required a level of skill that, in this country, only I possessed. When he found me, Matthew was ecstatic. He promised me a lifetime of financial security, offering to fund all my future research projects if I would just save his life. I took the responsibility seriously, even flying abroad for a final conference to ensure I was at the absolute peak of my abilities for his procedure. The surgery was scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon. Now, because of some ridiculously manipulated photo, I was being beaten in a parking garage. I glanced at my watch. It was already ten. “That photo was taken during a stethoscope examination for Mr. Flanagan,” I explained, my voice tight with urgency. “There were several people in the room. It’s not what you think. His surgery is at 1 PM today, and I am the lead surgeon. Let me go now. If this surgery is delayed, no one can afford the consequences.” My serious tone gave Isabelle a moment’s pause. Just as I thought she might see reason, one of her friends leaned in and whispered, “Don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to get away. The second you let her go, she’ll run straight to your husband and play the victim.” Another chimed in, “Think about it, Isabelle. The top surgeon in the country? Do you really think it would be some woman who’s not even thirty? Besides, if she was so important, wouldn’t he have sent a private car and a security detail? He’s a billionaire, after all.” Matthew had offered a private car, but I’d refused. I’ve always been focused on my work, not the trappings of wealth. A one-hour ride from the airport to the hospital in a civilized society—what could possibly go wrong? I never imagined a soap opera cliché would be my undoing. I tried to explain, but Isabelle was no longer listening. “Stop trying to trick me! Who is that naive anymore? My husband is one of the richest men in the world. People line up to get a piece of him. No one refuses his generosity.” She leaned down, her voice dripping with scorn. “‘Mr. Flanagan’? ‘Stethoscope examination’? ‘Several people’?” With each phrase, she slapped me hard across the face. “You shameless little bitch. You really are something else, fresh from your trip abroad. So sophisticated, so… open.” “You like playing dress-up, huh?” she sneered. “A little cosplay fetish? Well, today, you’re going to play until you’ve had enough.” At her signal, her friends dragged me toward their van. I had a mild concussion, and my body was a canvas of pain. I was too weak to resist. Someone in the crowd tried to intervene. “Even if she is a mistress, this is against the law! Look at what you’ve done to her!” Isabelle shot the young woman a withering glare. “Look at you, all decked out in designer brands at your age. I bet you earned them on your back too. Sluts protecting sluts. Keep your mouth shut before someone decides to teach you a lesson.” The girl burst into tears and shrank back. No one else dared to speak up. Suddenly, my phone, which had fallen to the ground, began to ring. Isabelle snatched it up. The caller ID read “Davies.” Her face twisted into a mask of rage. She answered, and the frantic voice of Matthew’s assistant filled the air. “Dr. Reed, where are you? Mr. Flanagan is fading fast. He needs you urgently.” Before he could finish, Isabelle shrieked and smashed the phone on the ground, shattering it to pieces. “Oh, that’s just perfect! He won’t let me, his wife, be with him for a ‘minor procedure,’ but he specifically requests his little slut to be by his side to serve him.” “I’m carrying his child! What do you have?” Her rage escalating, Isabelle jumped into the back of the van and grabbed a rope. My eyes widened in terror. Those hands were meant to save Matthew’s life this afternoon. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. My fear only seemed to please her. Her friends held me down while Isabelle wrapped the rope around my wrists, pulling it brutally tight. A searing pain shot through my hands, and a primal instinct took over. A surgeon’s hands are their life. With a surge of adrenaline, I kicked out, driving my knee hard into Isabelle’s side. The space was cramped. She cried out in pain. “Agh! It hurts!” Her friends, panicked, immediately let go of me to tend to her. Seizing the opportunity, I scrambled out of the van and ran. I didn’t get more than a few yards before something slammed into my back with tremendous force. They had hit me with the van. I felt bones snap, a coppery taste filled my mouth. Every breath was agony. A hand grabbed my hair, and I was dragged back into the vehicle. 4 SMACK! Another blow landed on my face. Isabelle was pale, clutching her stomach, her features distorted with pain and fury. “You little bitch! You worthless piece of trash! You dared to hit me? I’ll make you wish you were never born!” I knew she was pregnant, so I had aimed for her side, not her abdomen, and had pulled my strength. But in her mind, I was trying to kill her baby to take her place. She began kicking and punching me wildly. I was fading, my breaths shallow. Then, from somewhere, she produced a long, thick steel needle. Its tip glinted in the dim light, and a cold dread washed over me. “I kicked you…” I rasped. “You’re not showing yet… a three or four-month fetus is unstable. You need to go to a hospital… now.” Isabelle just laughed, a horrifying, joyless sound. “Don’t you worry about me.” She leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. “Your hands are important to you, aren’t they? Then I’ll destroy them.” “No!” I begged, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please, I’m a surgeon at City General Hospital! You can call them and verify! I am not Matthew Flanagan’s mistress, I swear! Just call him, and you’ll know I’m not lying!” The path to becoming a surgeon had been grueling. Countless nights spent in the lab, running data until dawn. While others were dating, traveling, I was with lab rats and anatomy charts. Eight years of my life, the best years of my youth, dedicated to reaching this point. The sacrifices were unimaginable. I couldn’t lose the ability to hold a scalpel. Not like this. “If you’re still angry, please, stick the needle in my leg, or even my face, I don’t care! Just please, not my hands, I’m begging you…” I would have knelt if I could have moved. Isabelle sneered. “Don’t make it sound like I’m the bully here. You tried to murder my child. A needle in your thigh won’t teach you a lesson, will it?” With that, she pinned my hand down and drove the steel needle straight through the center of my palm. “AAAAAHHH!” A scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. My whole body convulsed. Blood welled up around the metal, blurring my vision with tears. It felt like the needle had pierced my very soul, planting a seed of absolute despair. Eight years. How many eight years does a person get in a lifetime? My faith, my perseverance, my hope for the future—all of it severed by a single steel needle. My hands were meant to fail on an operating table, after a long and storied career, not to be destroyed in a dirty van. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. The pain was so immense it became a dull, distant throb. My brain, shutting down, wrapped itself in a protective fog. Seeing that I was no longer screaming, just cradling my mangled hand and weeping silently, one of her friends grew nervous. “Isabelle… what if we killed her?” A cruel light flickered in Isabelle’s eyes. “What are you afraid of? I’ve never seen someone die from a hole in their hand.” She shoved me. “Stop faking. A little puncture like that will heal. Don’t be so dramatic.” Soon, they pulled up to a luxury hotel. Isabelle, clearly familiar with the place, got the key card to the top-floor presidential suite and her friends dragged me inside. “You like your uniform fantasies, don’t you? Well, today you’re going to get your fill!” she announced to her livestream. “Everyone, how about a little treat? Let’s make this bitch put on a show for us, shall we?” I lay limp on the floor, summoning my last ounce of strength to issue a final warning. “You keep breaking the law. Have you thought for a second about how this will end for you? Matthew Flanagan is still waiting for me to perform his surgery. If you let me go now, I can still guide another team through the procedure. There’s still a good chance of success.” Even then, the doctor in me was worried about my patient. Isabelle let out a cold, sharp laugh. “If you’re a doctor, then I’ll eat my own shit upside down. Stop pretending you’re some noble professional, you little slut. Take a good look at yourself.” Her friends returned with an armful of cheap, revealing lingerie and costumes. When I refused to put them on, they swarmed me, tearing at my clothes. My injured hands were useless. Blood smeared across my skin as they ripped my blouse, exposing me to their camera before forcing me into one degrading outfit after another. The viewer count on the livestream skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands. “Damn, she’s got a good body. I can see why the billionaire fell for her.” “This is how you deal with mistresses. They have no shame. Now everyone can see what a pathetic whore she is. Let’s see her try to seduce another man after this.” “To all the white knights in the comments, let’s see how you feel when this bitch comes for your husband.” The vile comments were a second assault, a psychological torture that matched the physical. I bit my tongue until it bled, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. Just as they were about to force me into humiliating poses, Isabelle’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, and the rage on her face instantly melted into a soft, demure expression. She shot me a triumphant smirk and provocatively put the call on speaker. Before she could say a word, Matthew Flanagan’s furious voice erupted from the phone. “Did you, or did you not, abduct a woman from the airport?” Isabelle froze, the fury instantly returning to her eyes. “I didn’t abduct anyone,” she snapped. “I was just teaching a homewrecker a lesson.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a wave of incandescent rage. “Let her go. NOW.” “I’m on my way. If you’ve harmed her in any way, I swear to God, you’re dead.” Thump. The phone slipped from Isabelle’s hand. She swayed on her feet, barely able to stand. She knew Matthew well enough to know he never made empty threats. Her friends exchanged panicked glances, their hands falling away from me. “Isabelle, what’s going on?” one of them whispered, sweat beading on her forehead. “Why is he so angry?” Isabelle slapped the woman across the face. “How the hell should I know?!” She turned on me, her eyes wild with a new, terrifying madness. “You still say you’re not his mistress? I’ve never heard Matthew sound so worried about anyone!” She had completely lost it. She slapped me several more times, then grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby table. “What are you doing? Are you insane?” I scrambled backward, but it was no use. I had no strength left. Her friends were starting to panic. “Isabelle, if this goes any further… someone’s really going to get killed.” “I’m not an idiot,” Isabelle shot back. “I’m not going to jail for killing her. I’m just going to ruin that pretty little face of hers. Let’s see how she seduces Matthew after this!” She regained her confidence. “Besides, he would never let me die. I’m carrying his child, his own flesh and blood.” Her words seemed to erase any remaining doubt in her friends’ minds. A flicker of excitement, of vicarious cruelty, lit up their eyes. They pinned me to the floor. A cold, sharp pain seared across my cheek as the blade dragged through my skin. Blood welled up, filling my vision with a crimson haze. My heart turned to ash. Tears streamed from my eyes, mixing with the blood. “Let’s see you seduce another man now,” Isabelle said, clapping her hands together, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Just then, a call came from the front desk. Matthew Flanagan was on his way up, and he was furious. The thought of their unborn child being a shield was suddenly not so comforting. Panic washed over their faces. Isabelle’s mind raced. “Hide her,” she ordered. “We’ll tell him she’s not here.”

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For ten thousand yuan, I bought the book’s biggest, gloomiest villain and brought her home. The only problem? She’s now a cripple, both of her legs completely useless. She was supposed to die. Instead, I took her home and forced her to become my housewife. The dark, obsessive woman I remembered picked up a kitchen knife and sneered, “Yellow croaker. Guess what I’m going to do to you today? Steamed or braised? You pick.” Later, when the story’s main hero and heroine showed up at our door, she was in the middle of angrily washing a fat stray cat I’d just brought home. “All you do is drag home these… things!” she snapped, covered in suds. “And who ends up taking care of them? Me!” She glared at the newcomers. “Why are you here? Since you’re here, make yourselves useful. Go fold my wife’s laundry.” 1. The shouting started just as my shift was ending. It’s a common sound in a hospital, so common I already had the de-escalation script running in my head as I walked into the room. I didn’t even get to speak before a wheelchair slammed backward into my legs, nearly sending me sprawling. A man’s voice, sharp and bitter, sliced through the air. “You can keep the useless cripple! I’m not paying another cent for her! You want your money? Take her to the curb and let her die, for all I care!” The woman in the wheelchair was facing away from him, her head bowed. She didn’t flinch. If it weren’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought she was already dead. My charge nurse, Helen, was trying to reason with the man, but he just glared at her. He shoved past us, stopped in front of the woman, and spat on the floor at her feet. “Pathetic,” he snarled. “If I were you, I’d have killed myself by now.” He stormed out. The woman remained perfectly still, a statue of misery. I grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, knelt, and wiped the spittle from the floor before it could touch her. It was only then, as I looked up, that I saw her face. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was translucent, her features sharp and perfect. But her entire face was shrouded in a shadow, a palpable aura of gloom that was, in its own way, breathtaking. I stared, completely mesmerized, until I felt my face flush. I stood up and turned to Helen. “What’s the story?” Helen sighed. “That was her uncle. Car accident a week ago, severed her spinal cord. She’s a paraplegic. He’s her only family. He’s refusing to pay the bill or arrange for post-op care. She owes just under ten thousand. We… we can’t legally discharge her to ‘homeless.’” I looked at the woman. I thought about the story. I pulled out my phone and checked my savings account. Then I walked out to the hallway where the uncle was still arguing with security. “You don’t want her, right?” I said. He looked at me, disgusted. “What’s it to you?” “I’ll take her.” Helen grabbed my arm. “Zoe, don’t. You can’t just…” “It’s fine,” I said, my voice betraying a confidence I didn’t feel. “I’ve got the money.” “Zoe, you’re a physical therapist, not a charity,” she whispered. “You’re 25. You can’t just adopt every tragic case.” The woman in the wheelchair actually stirred at that. “I know, Helen,” I said, turning back to the uncle. “I’ve got this one.” I waved my phone at him. “Ten grand. I’ll pay her bill. But you sign the discharge papers. You sign away any right to her. You’re done.” He looked at me like I was insane. Then he looked back at the woman. “Fine! You want the burden? She’s all yours! Just don’t come crying to me when she ruins your life!” He signed the forms so fast his pen tore the paper. 2. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of destiny as I pushed her chair. I’d known, ever since I was a child, that this world wasn’t quite real. I had memories of another life, another world where this one was just a story. A very dramatic, very trashy romance novel. And I, Zoe, was a background character. Seraphina—the woman in the chair—was the main villain. The tragic, ruthless ice queen. And I had just bought the story’s final boss for ten thousand dollars. When we got to my crappy one-bedroom rental, she still hadn’t spoken. The tiny apartment was filled with my nervous chatter. “So, this is it! Home sweet home. What’s your name? I mean, I know it’s Seraphina from the chart, but… are you hungry? I can make something.” She said nothing. She just stared at her own useless legs. I finally gave up. I wheeled her to the tiny kitchen table, knelt in front of her, and physically tilted her chin up. Her eyes, gray and fogged-over, met mine. “I said,” I enunciated, “are you hungry?” The physical contact seemed to shock her. Her pupils dilated. After a long, tense silence, she finally spoke. Her voice was a dry, rusty croak. “Seraphina. Twenty-seven.” It took me a second to realize she was answering my earlier questions. She still hadn’t answered the one about food. “Okay, Seraphina. If you won’t choose, I’m making what I want. I’m Zoe, by the way. I’m 25. And I’m making egg-fried rice.” I made a huge pan of it and split it between two bowls. I put one in front of her. She didn’t move. She just turned her head away. I held my ground, holding the bowl. “I’m not putting it down until you take it.” My hand started to shake from the weight. Finally, she snatched the bowl and slammed it on the table. But she didn’t eat. I lost my patience. “Who are you fighting with? Me? Yourself? Fine. You don’t eat, I don’t eat. We can starve to death together. I’m too tired to care.” She shot me a look—a quick, sharp glance of pure disbelief. I meant it. I slumped onto the couch, my body aching from a double shift, and watched her. We sat in silence. Hours passed. The sun went down. My stomach was churning. Just as I was about to pass out from hunger and exhaustion, the statue moved. She licked her chapped lips. “Can I… have some water?” I staggered to my feet. “If you drink, you eat. Got it?” She gave the faintest, most miserable nod. I got her water, with a straw. She drank it all. Then, slowly, she picked up the spoon and began to eat the cold, greasy rice. She ate a few bites, then watched me. When she saw I wasn’t eating, she stopped. She wasn’t a villain. She was a stray cat, terrified the food was a trap. I sighed, snatched her bowl, scraped it back into the pan, threw in some leftover chicken, and microwaved the whole thing. “Here,” I said, handing it back. “Now we both eat. Happy?” She took the bowl. Then, with her spoon, she carefully scooped half the chicken from her bowl into mine. When I looked up, she was already staring back at her lap, pretending it never happened. 3. That night, I moved to get her into bed. “Okay, arms up,” I said, moving to lift her shirt. “You know the drill, I do this all day.” She reacted like I’d tasered her. She gripped the arms of the chair, her face burning. “Get out! I can do it myself!” I stood back, arms crossed. “Okay.” Her face got redder. “I said, get out!” Her eyes were wet. I sighed. “Fine. Yell if you need me.” I closed the door. I heard her struggling, the scrape of the chair, the rustle of clothes. Then… a heavy, sickening thud. Before I could grab the doorknob, she screamed, her voice cracking, “Don’t come in! I’m fine!” I waited, my hand on the door, for ten agonizing minutes. Finally, a small voice. “Okay.” I opened the door. Her clothes were scattered everywhere. The wheelchair was on its side. Seraphina was on the bed, but she was tangled in the sheets, sweating and trembling, her back bare. I didn’t say a word. I just fixed the chair, picked up her clothes, and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. “What do you want for breakfast?” She didn’t answer. I understood. It takes time to accept this. To accept help. But I also knew that life isn’t a novel. She couldn’t afford to be a tragic heroine. I’d give her three days. Then the real work would start. I slept on the floor. The next morning, I woke up with my spare blanket draped over me. I didn’t give her a choice. I hauled her out of bed. She was lighter than I expected, all bone and no muscle. I carried her into the bathroom and set her on the toilet. “Can you do this yourself, or do I help?” She stared at the toilet, her face crimson, veins popping in her neck. I didn’t look away. “Seraphina. The hospital is gone. This is home. I’m a PT. I am not shy. Can you do this, or do I help?” Finally, in a voice so small it was barely air, she whispered, “I… I can’t. You help.” She closed her eyes in humiliation as I did. But she didn’t fight me. 4. We found a rhythm. But I was worried. I kept finding her with a steak knife from the kitchen, just… holding it. Testing the edge against her palm. The fourth time I found a blade hidden under her mattress, I took it and dropped it into the kitchen trash. She exploded. “Don’t I even have the right to die?!” she shrieked, a raw, painful sound. “No,” I said, my voice hard. “You don’t. I paid ten thousand dollars for your life. It’s my investment. You don’t get to throw it away.” “You… you…!” She was so angry she couldn’t speak. “What?” I said, crossing my arms. “What are you going to do? Kill yourself? That’s your big move? You know what that is? It’s easy. It’s what they want. You’re giving up.” “I have no one!” she finally choked out. “Am I no one? I saved your life, didn’t I?” She was silent, tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why did you save me?” I sat on the floor, leaning my head against her useless knee. “I’m an orphan,” I said quietly. “Car crash. Whole family. Gone. I was 16. Bounced around foster care. When I was 18, I got pneumonia. I was in my dorm, broke, and I couldn’t afford the co-pay for antibiotics. I remember lying there, thinking, ‘This is it. I’m going to die over $40.’ “I promised myself, if I made it… I’d never let anyone else feel that. That specific, cheap kind of despair.” I looked up at her. “So… just… live, okay? For me. Just live.” She didn’t say anything. She just gripped the fabric of my scrubs. After that, she stopped hoarding knives.

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There was a bakery near my office, “Sweet Bliss,” that was amazing and affordable. I loved it so much, I set them up as the vendor for our entire company’s daily afternoon snack break. On a day off, I was craving their stuff and saw they were on DoorDash. I was shocked when I got to the checkout. The total, after all the promos and a coupon, wasn’t just cheaper than our corporate rate—it was almost half the price. And the portions were bigger. I called the owner to ask why. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive and smaller than a single DoorDash delivery?” Her response? “You shouldn’t complain about a free meal.” “You don’t pay a dime for it, your boss does!” she snapped. “Your CEO isn’t whining, so why are you making a scene?” She was right, I’m not the CEO. The CEO’s my dad. And if DoorDash is cheaper and better? Fine. Let’s have the entire company order from DoorDash. 1 When I saw the total, I thought I’d messed up the order. Nope. Taro Boba and a Strawberry Swirl Cupcake. Same as always. But the price… it was $7 cheaper than our corporate rate. I checked the bakery’s page. There was a “30% off orders over $15” promo, plus a $5 “DashPass” coupon I had. My total came to $8. Our company pays $15 per person for the exact same items. I figured this must be the catch. Everyone knows delivery portions are a rip-off. It would probably be tiny and stale. But when the Dasher handed me the bag, I realized I was the one being played. 2 The boba was amazing. The cup was coated in a thick, purple taro puree. The ones at work? They had a sad, single-spoon smear at the bottom. And the cupcake. The ones at the office had a thin layer of frosting. This one was piled high with a three-layer swirl, studded with actual, visible chunks of strawberry. On top of that, they’d thrown in a free mango mochi. A little sticker on the mochi box read: “5-star review + pic = $3 off your next order!” I was confused. Did she make a mistake? Did she grab someone else’s deluxe order? Or… had she been intentionally ripping us off this whole time? I couldn’t let it go. I dialed the shop. The voice that answered was sickeningly sweet, “Hi! Thank you for calling Sweet Bliss Bakery, how can I help you today?” I tried to keep my cool. “Hi, I’m calling from Aura Cosmetics—” She cut me off. Her voice was suddenly sharp, like scraping a fork on a plate. “Ugh, you girls again. My husband just dropped off your order.” “You all need to put your requests in the notes. I don’t have time to deal with this every day. You’re all so high-maintenance. ‘Half-sweet,’ ‘no ice,’ ‘extra hot’… I’m not just serving your company, you know! I have delivery orders piling up!” Her rant floored me. Aura Cosmetics is a beauty startup, so yeah, 95% of our staff are women. A free coffee and a pastry in the afternoon is a small perk that keeps morale high. I took pride in setting it up. I’d been so happy to give Sweet Bliss the business. We guaranteed them 150 orders, every single day, at a $15 per-person budget. We paid our invoices weekly, on the dot. We’d been their biggest client for four months straight. 3 “And another thing,” she was still going, “you always call right at the lunch rush—” I cut her off. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive than a single DoorDash order?” The line went silent. “And why,” I continued, “are you so nice to a random customer, but so rude to your biggest client?” She coughed, trying to recover. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I’m just so swamped. I just… I feel like we’re so familiar, you know? I can be casual with you. Don’t take it personally.” “Familiar? Really? Then what’s my name?” She stammered. She couldn’t say it. “You don’t know who I am,” I said, my voice cold. “This isn’t ‘casual.’ This is taking us for granted.” “Now, answer my question. Why is the same order $7 cheaper on DoorDash, and it comes with a free mochi and a coupon?” “You said you were giving us your absolute rock-bottom price.” I expected her to apologize. Instead, she got defensive. “Look, you’re trying to have it both ways! You used a bunch of coupons. Those are platform promos! DoorDash pays for that, not me!” “That’s a lie,” I said. “I know how the platform works. The ‘30% off’ promo comes directly out of your margin. And DoorDash still takes its 25% commission. On my $8 order, you probably made $2. But you charge our company $15 for a worse product? You’re not just overcharging us. You’re robbing us.” She was still trying to gaslight me. “We do delivery for volume, not profit! I set the menu price at $15 for everyone. I even gave your company a 50-cent discount on that! What I do on DoorDash is my business!” I laughed. “Oh, really? So the watery boba and the dry cupcake we get are just ‘group discount’ quality?” 4 That finally broke her. She dropped the fake-sweet voice and went full-on nasty. “You’re just a little employee, mooching off a free perk, and you have the nerve to complain? Did you pay for it? No! It’s company money! Why are you so obsessed? You’re just a broke-ass brat.” “You freeload at the office all day, then go home and try to scam promos on DoorDash.” “I can’t stand girls like you, all dressed up in your nice clothes, but cheap as hell underneath.” I was stunned. “What do you mean, ‘mooching’?” I said. “It’s an employee benefit. We have a right to know what we’re actually paying for.” She let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. “Oh, honey, you really think you’re special, don’t you? You really think that company is your house?” “If you hate the corporate order, go ahead and buy your own. Oh, wait… you’d never do that. You’d never pass up a free handout.” “Our CEO hasn’t said a word. So who the hell do you think you are, making a scene?” “Why don’t you call me back when you’re the boss.” Click. She hung up on me. I was so angry I was shaking. But then, I just felt… cold. Why was she so confident? Why wasn’t she afraid I’d report her? I pulled up a map. Our office park is in a new, remote development. It’s cheap rent, but it’s a food desert. I checked the apps. Besides Sweet Bliss, there were three other options: a sad-looking deli, a Starbucks (where $15 wouldn’t even cover a drink and a pastry), and a tiny mom-and-pop place that couldn’t possibly handle 150 orders. Brenda knew she had a monopoly. She thought she had us. That was a big mistake. I opened our company-wide Slack. I sent a message to the general channel. [@everyone, Hi team. Quick update on the afternoon snack. We’re pausing the group order with Sweet Bliss. Instead, starting tomorrow, please order your own snack from the ‘Sweet Bliss Bakery’ on DoorDash. Here’s the fun part: Create a new DoorDash account to get the new-user promos. Stack all the coupons you can. The company budget is still $15 per person. You’ll be paid back on a reimbursement. Any money you save… is yours to keep. Let’s see who can get the best deal!] The channel exploded. Not only were they getting a better-quality snack, but they were also getting a cash bonus. My phone buzzed. It was Brenda.

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“She’s been crippled for four years, and I’ve waited on her for four years. At some point, the debt is paid, right?” “The thought of her legs… that dead flesh… it makes me sick. Why couldn’t it have been me?” I recoiled, shrinking behind a decorative pillar as the words sliced through the cool night air. A calm, otherworldly voice echoed in my mind. The four-year contract is complete. Does the host wish to renew? My own voice, a silent scream in my head, was immediate. System, I want my legs back. Understood. Initiating contract termination. 1 It was my birthday. I’d been sitting alone with the small, perfect cake for what felt like an eternity. Leo had texted that he was almost there, but the minutes stretched into an hour, and his shadow never darkened the door. Finally, I gave up. With a weary sigh, I maneuvered my wheelchair out of the apartment and down the service elevator. I was just pulling out my phone to call him when I saw him standing near the building’s entrance. A surge of relief washed over me. I was about to call his name, a happy, forgiving sound, but I paused. He wasn’t alone. He was deep in conversation with a few of his friends. Must be work, I thought, a familiar pang of disappointment settling in my chest. That’s why he’s late. I wheeled myself closer, staying in the shadows of the manicured hedges, and their words began to drift towards me. They weren’t talking about work. They were talking about me. “Leo, man, I don’t think Claire can wait much longer,” one of them said. Claire? Who was Claire? “I’m not going to make her wait much longer.” The men standing with Leo were his two closest friends, his self-proclaimed brothers, Mark and Evan. Mark clapped him on the shoulder, his voice booming. “You’ve finally made up your mind? It’s about damn time!” When Leo nodded, a slow, deliberate motion, a grin split Mark’s face. “Seriously, man, I thought you were never going to get rid of Audrey. These past few years, you’ve been climbing the ladder, building an empire… and she’s still just a cripple. The gap between you two is bigger than the Grand Canyon.” I flinched at the word, but I wasn’t surprised. I knew his friends had never liked me, had always seen me as a weight around his ankles. Still, I clung to the belief that their crude opinions couldn’t possibly unravel the bond Leo and I shared. I was wrong. So terribly wrong. “Four years,” Leo said, and the sound of his voice was like a stone dropping into a deep, cold well. He let out a long breath, a sound of profound release. “She’s been crippled for four years, and I’ve waited on her for four years. At some point, the debt is paid, right?” A silent explosion detonated in my skull. I stared at his silhouette, unable to process, unable to believe. “I’m just glad you see it clearly, man,” Mark continued. “I swear, if it was me, she would have driven me insane by now.” “You have no idea,” Leo muttered, shaking his head. “A disabled person… there’s a smell. It’s stale, medicinal. We have that chair professionally cleaned every week, but the scent never really leaves. It’s in the apartment, on the sheets… I can’t stand it anymore.” Even Evan, who was usually quiet and reserved, let out a dry chuckle. “You’ve had it rough, Leo. The fact that you still had to sleep in the same bed with her… makes me want to puke just thinking about it.” The slight curve of Leo’s lips, visible even in the dim light, was a dagger in my heart. “Don’t even get me started,” he said, his voice laced with a bitterness I’d never heard before. “I wish it had been me who was paralyzed that day. I don’t get why she had to save me. If she hadn’t thrown herself at me, maybe we both would have walked away fine. Or maybe this was her plan all along, right? A way to make me owe her forever.” He was right, and he was wrong. Four years ago, Leo was crossing the street, his head buried in his phone. An out-of-control delivery truck was barreling toward him. In a split second of pure instinct, I screamed his name and launched myself at him. But I was a fraction of a second too late. The impact sent us flying. When I came to, Leo was a ruin of blood and twisted limbs, his legs crushed into something unrecognizable. He was such a proud man, an alpha in every sense of the word. His business was just taking off, his empire just beginning to rise. He needed those legs. I remember the moment with perfect, chilling clarity. System, I pleaded, my own body broken and bleeding on the asphalt. Give him my legs. Take mine and give them to him. Host, this exchange is irreversible. He’ll go insane if he wakes up like this. He needs them more than I do. All this time, Leo believed the truck had destroyed my legs. He never knew the truth. They were a gift. A sacrifice I made willingly. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, my heart hammering against my ribs. Leo’s voice cut through the air again. “Four years. Four. Fucking. Years. Every single day has been torture. Now, just looking at her face makes my stomach turn.” “We should take you out, man,” Mark offered. “Blow off some steam. Let’s hit Vertex.” Leo immediately shook his head. “Can’t. It’s Audrey’s birthday. After tonight… after this one last birthday, we can finally be done. It’s a clean break, you know?” The rest of their conversation blurred into a dull roar in my ears. I don’t remember wheeling myself back to the elevator, don’t remember getting back inside the apartment. When Leo finally came in, he was a whirlwind of apologies and excuses. As we sat at the small table with the birthday cake between us, his phone was a constant presence, his eyes flicking down to the screen every few seconds. He’d always told me it was work, and I’d always believed him. Now, the lie was laughably transparent. “Who’s Claire?” I asked, my voice flat. His head snapped up. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, held a flicker of something unreadable—panic, maybe guilt. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a familiar mask of annoyance. “What are you talking about?” “I’m just asking. Is it a secret?” He quickly recalibrated, forcing a warm, patient smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Honey, you’re misunderstanding. She’s just a business partner. Speaking of which, something’s come up. I… I have to step out for a bit.” “But it’s my birthday.” My voice was barely a whisper. I just wanted to finish this one last meal with him, to preserve the illusion for a few more minutes. A wave of irritation washed over his features, barely concealed. “You already blew out the candles, didn’t you? Be a good girl, Audrey. I’ll be back before you know it.” He smiled, reached out to pat my head, and then snatched his hand back as if he’d touched something hot. He turned and walked out without another word. I wheeled myself to the window and watched him step onto the sidewalk. I saw him take out a handkerchief and furiously wipe the hand that had just touched my hair. Then he bent over, retching into the bushes. I looked at my own useless legs, my expression calm, my heart a frozen block of ice. System, can I get them back now? Host, your current accumulated points are insufficient. A random mission has been generated. Please proceed to Vertex Lounge. I didn’t hesitate. I changed my clothes and left. But when I arrived at the entrance to the sleek, thrumming nightclub, my courage failed me. The bouncer eyed my wheelchair with a mixture of pity and disdain. I felt a desperate urge to flee. The System’s voice, impersonal and insistent, prodded me forward. I finally pushed through the doors. The chaotic energy of the club was a sensory assault. I tried to find a quiet corner, but someone stumbled backward, crashing into my chair. “What the hell? A cripple?” a man slurred, scowling down at me. “They let anyone in here now? Get the hell out of the way!” “Yeah, what’s a gimp doing in a club? Move it!” his friend chimed in. I stammered apologies, my face burning with shame. I tried to turn and leave, to find another way out, but a strong hand clamped down on the handle of my wheelchair, stopping me cold. It was Leo. “What are you doing here?” His voice wasn’t a question. It was an interrogation. “It was so quiet at home,” I said, my voice small. “I just wanted to go somewhere.” Mark sauntered over, a drink in his hand, a superior smirk on his face. “Audrey, come on. You can’t just ‘go somewhere’ like this. This isn’t a place for… someone like you. Can’t you give Leo a break, just for one night?” “I used to come here all the time,” I said, my voice gaining a bit of strength. “Before the accident. I just wanted to see it again.” “That was before,” Mark shot back, his voice dripping with condescension. “Now you’re a useless burden. You’re just getting in everyone’s way. Look around, look at how people are staring at you.” Evan wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?” Mark leaned in theatrically, sniffing the air around me. He recoiled with a look of disgust. “Jesus, Audrey, is that you? The booze in here is strong, but it’s not enough to cover up that… stink.” Through the haze of my humiliation, I thought I heard Leo chuckle. I lifted my head, and my eyes met his across the small space separating us. His face was a mask of cold amusement. “Leo,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re just going to stand there and let them say these things to me?” He cleared his throat. “Did they say anything that was untrue? Audrey, don’t make a scene. Just go home. I’ll have my driver take you.” The System reminded me that I had to remain for two hours. A strange, reckless smile touched my lips. “No,” I said, my voice clear and firm. “I’m not going home. And I won’t bother you.” Mark leaned in and whispered something in Leo’s ear. “Claire’s on her way.” Leo’s jaw tightened. He glared at me, his patience gone. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you going home?” “No.” A cruel, chilling smile spread across his face. “You want to play? Fine. Let’s play.” He gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod. A moment later, his friends swarmed me, laughing and jeering. They grabbed the frame of my wheelchair. And then they lifted me into the air. Panic seized me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white, a cold sweat breaking out across my entire body. My clothes clung to my damp skin. They hoisted me up like a trophy, rocking the chair back and forth as they whooped and hollered. Across the room, Leo lounged on a leather banquette, one leg crossed over the other, sipping his drink as he watched me. My eyes found the DJ booth, the pulsating lights, the hypnotic beat. The DJ, a young man with kind eyes, caught my gaze and gave me a small, encouraging wave. Something inside me snapped. The fear receded, replaced by a wild, defiant energy. I let go of the armrests, raised my hands into the air, and started cheering along with the music, a genuine smile on my face. I could faintly hear Mark’s voice below. “Is she gonna puke? Shake her harder!” But from his vantage point, only Leo could see the truth. He could see that in this moment of ultimate humiliation, I had found a bizarre, fleeting moment of joy. Of freedom. With a crash, he slammed his glass down on the table, his face a thundercloud of fury. The next thing I knew, I was falling. They dropped me. The impact was brutal, knocking the air from my lungs and sending me tumbling out of the chair and onto the filthy floor. Leo walked over, his face a perfect picture of feigned concern. “Guys, what the hell? You have to be more careful. You dropped your sister-in-law.” He looked down at me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “Audrey, you okay?” He offered me his hand. I had no other choice. I just needed him to lift me back into my seat. I reached for his hand. At the last possible second, he pulled it away. He staggered back, covering his nose and mouth. “Oh, God.” His friends followed suit, backing away from me as if I were radioactive. Leo threw his head back and roared with laughter. The music in the club seemed to die at that exact moment, plunging the room into a stunned silence. “Audrey!” he boomed, his voice echoing in the sudden quiet. “Did you just… lose control? Again?! My God, we’re in public!” Every eye in the room turned to me. I could feel their stares like physical blows, searing my skin. Mark howled with laughter, a sound so piercing it made my teeth ache. “Wow, Audrey! You really can’t hold it, can you? I mean, at home is one thing, but out here? With all these people? Ugh!” Leo was the one to deliver the final, killing blow, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. “I told you to go home, Audrey. Did you have to do this? Did you have to embarrass us both? You’ve completely ruined my reputation!”

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Because I drank a bottle of Coke, my parents tried to kill me. Summer break had just started. I’d just survived the long, sticky drive back to our old house in the mountains. The heat was suffocating, so I made a beeline for the fridge. Luckily, there was one last bottle of Coke inside. I twisted the cap and drained it in one go. The cold fizz was life-saving. That’s when my mom came out of the kitchen. She was all smiles. “Alex! You’re finally home! Your dad and I are prepping ribs, we’re gonna have a big barbecue…” I was smiling, about to answer. But my mom’s face suddenly changed. Her eyes locked onto the empty Coke bottle in my hand. The bright, welcoming expression vanished, replaced by something dark and terrifying. She hissed, “You! Did you drink that Coke!?” 1 I flinched. At that moment, I still hadn’t realized how serious this was. I just said, “Yeah… why? Did it… did it taste weird to you?” I thought maybe it was expired. It wasn’t. The next second, my mom lunged at me. I had no time to react. She slapped me, hard, across the face. I yelled out, stumbling back, my cheek on fire. My mom’s expression was savage, like she wanted to murder me on the spot. My head was spinning. I was too stunned to speak. Thankfully, my dad heard the noise and ran in from the kitchen. I looked at him, my voice cracking. “Dad! Mom… she’s crazy… she just hit me for no reason!” My dad started to yell at her, but she just shrieked: “He drank the Coke!” And then I watched it happen all over again. My dad’s angry eyes snapped to me. He lunged, too. He kicked me, hard, in the stomach. This time, I didn’t stay standing. I crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. All I could do was groan. Through my blurry vision, I saw them standing over me, their faces twisted in pure disgust. “Quick… lock him in the cellar.” 2 I didn’t come to until it was dark. My stomach was a knot of pain. I sat up and realized the cellar door was locked from the outside. My phone was gone. I could hear my parents walking around upstairs. I banged on the door, I yelled, but they ignored me. What was happening? No dinner, a brutal beating, and now I was a prisoner. Then, I heard them whispering. “…what are we going to do with him?” “…no choice… even if he’s our son…” “…I agree… but let’s wait. It’ll be less painful if he’s asleep…” I froze. My parents, who had doted on me my whole life, were planning to kill me. All because… I drank a bottle of Coke? What was in that bottle? I had to calm down. I had to get out. I suddenly remembered… when I was a kid, I used to play hide-and-seek in this cellar. I always hid behind the old woodpile. Not just because it was a good spot, but because in the corner, behind the pile, there was a hole in the foundation. It was blocked by a few loose bricks. I used to sneak in and out. The woodpile was gone now, replaced by junk. But in that corner… An old, rusty metal cabinet. I scrambled over and shoved it aside. Yes! The loose red bricks were still there. I kicked one, and it shifted. I knelt, pushing and pulling the bricks out one by one. A dark, narrow hole appeared. It took time, and my whole body ached, but I finally managed to squeeze through. I came out in the damp, cool dirt under the porch. I didn’t wait. I just ran. This was a rural town. No shops, no payphones. I instinctively ran to the closest house: my grandpa’s. But as I stood in front of his door… I hesitated. What if he was like them? Just then, a voice came from the darkness behind me. “So there you are.” 3 I jumped out of my skin and spun around. It was my grandpa, leaning on his cane. I relaxed, just a little. It wasn’t my dad. “Grandpa, I…” I opened my mouth, but how could I explain it? “My parents are trying to murder me over a soft drink”? Would he believe me? He seemed… normal. He chuckled. “Figured you’d come see your old grandpa, huh? Come on in, come on in…” He fumbled with his keys and started to open the door. He was acting completely normal. But as he pushed the door open and waved me inside… it hit me. I stopped. “Grandpa, why aren’t you surprised to see me? Did you know I was coming home for the summer?” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Of course I knew… It’s late, Alex. Get inside.” I didn’t move. “Who told you I was back? And… where are you just getting back from?” His smile froze. And my blood ran cold. My parents locked me in the cellar at dusk. Of course they would have told my grandpa. I had been so stupid. He wasn’t out. He was just coming back… from my house. I still clung to a last thread of hope. But then his face changed. The folksy charm vanished, replaced by a cold fury. He didn’t even bother to explain. He just raised his heavy wooden cane and swung it at my head. I was already backing away. I ducked, and I felt the whoosh of the cane as it smashed into the doorframe. He had put all his strength into it. My legs turned to jelly. I just ran. Behind me, I heard him yelling, “Damn it! Get back here, you little bastard!” The night air was cold. My heart was colder. What was in that Coke? 4 I ran until my lungs burned, and hid in a thicket of ferns. I was exhausted, but… I felt fine. My body wasn’t changing. I wasn’t growing scales or a third eye. It was just a normal Coke. But my family was treating me like I was a monster. I had to find out why. I couldn’t run forever. I couldn’t trust anyone. Except… maybe one person. My best friend, Josh. I had no money, no phone. I couldn’t even leave town without help. I cut through the dark woods to his house. I knew his room was on the ground floor. I crept up to the window. The light was on. I tapped on the glass. A second later, he appeared. I spoke before he could yell. “Josh! Don’t freak out! It’s me, Alex. I’m in serious trouble.” He let out a breath. “Dude! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you at the window? Come to the front door.” “Are your parents home?” I asked, my voice low. “No, they’re not. They got some weird call and just bolted out of here. Why?” My stomach tightened. It had to be about me. My parents knew Josh was my best friend. They must have found me gone. I was about to explain when Josh’s phone rang. 5 He answered it casually. “Hey, Dad? What’s up?” I stood frozen, listening. “Alex? Why are you looking for him?” Josh’s eyes shot to me, wide with confusion. He pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” His dad’s voice was tense, urgent. “Because… because he drank a bottle of Coke! Son, I’m serious. If you see him, you call me or your mom immediately. Do you understand me? Don’t go near him.” Josh looked at me, completely baffled. “Uh… okay. Sure.” He hung up. “Dude,” he whispered, staring at me. “What the hell is going on? You drank a Coke, and my dad’s acting like you started a zombie apocalypse.” I finally felt a tiny bit of relief. He was normal. He hadn’t heard “he drank a Coke” and immediately turned on me. But his parents weren’t. They were part of it. Josh was smart. “My parents could be back any second,” he said, climbing out the window. “Let’s talk out here.” “My dad said your parents have the whole town out looking for you. This is insane. You didn’t just drink a Coke, did you? What did you really do?” It sounded crazy even to me. I told him everything that had happened since I got home. He listened, his expression growing more and more disturbed. When I finished, he was silent for a few seconds. “You know,” he said slowly, “my grandma used to tell this story… You’ve probably never heard it, since your family moved away for so long.” He told me the legend.

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01 Lately, my husband has been carrying a foul odor. It’s hard to describe. It’s like a backed-up septic tank mixed with the smell of rotting fish. Whenever he gets close, the stench intensifies, making me sick to my stomach. “Elaine, can we… tonight?” He hugged me from behind again, his warm breath on my neck. But the first thing to hit me was that familiar, putrid smell. My stomach churned. I shoved him away. “Marcus, you smell disgusting!” The desire on his face vanished, replaced by a flash of annoyance. “Elaine, are you sick? How many specialists have we seen? They all said I’m fine! What the hell is your problem?” I rolled my eyes. He was right. His medical reports were perfect. Not even the slightest sign of inflammation. But I was born with a hyper-sensitive nose, and I couldn’t stand this smell. It was exactly like a sewer. 02 Marcus stormed into the bathroom, his face dark. The sound of the shower filled the silence. I sighed, frustrated. Tonight was his birthday, and I still couldn’t bring myself to be intimate. As long as this smell existed, our marriage was on hold. I rubbed my temples, annoyed. My eyes landed on the smartwatch on the nightstand. It was the birthday present I’d given him just this evening. Marcus is a tenured professor at a top-tier university. He’s always buried in research and grant proposals. Nearing fifty, he needs to watch his health. So, I got him a watch that tracks his heart rate. I picked it up, idly exploring its features. Suddenly, the watch vibrated and two messages popped up on the screen. [Prof, can we not do it in the office next time?] [It still hurts.] My fingers froze. Professor? Office? Hurts? The words hit my brain like hammers. And then, I understood. Oh. That’s why he stinks. He’s cheating. Well, that solves that. 03 Looking back, Marcus had been acting strange for two months. He’s an engineering professor. His life is lectures and his lab. This is a man who wouldn’t notice if his collar was inside-out. But two months ago, he suddenly started caring about his appearance. He started researching anti-aging serums and skincare. He’d stand in front of the mirror at night, tapping toner onto his face like some influencer. His phone, once tossed carelessly on the counter, became his lifeline. He took it into the shower. He slept with it under his pillow. He even clutched it in his hand when he went to the bathroom. When he looked at his screen, he’d subconsciously angle his body away, shielding it. Once, I brought him a plate of fruit and got too close. He flinched like a startled rabbit and locked his phone. When I asked, he always had an excuse. “It’s just my grad students. They might message about the experiment at any time.” Right. He’s been teaching for twenty years, but now he’s this dedicated. 04 The watch buzzed again. It was a reply from Marcus. [Don’t worry, no one ever goes to that office.] [I’ll buy some cushions for the chair. You won’t get bruised.] [Remember to use the cream I got you. To help with the swelling.] The affair was confirmed. I picked up my glass of water and took a long drink. The cold liquid barely cooled the acid rising in my throat. My heart felt like it was in a vise. Marcus and I were the model couple. We’d been together since college. Twenty-five years. We survived the poverty of grad school, paid off our mortgage together, and earned our professorships together. To everyone else, we were a perfect team. But while I was settling into our life, he was building a new one somewhere else. I swiped open the watch’s message interface. The student’s username was “C-is-for-Courage.” The avatar was a cartoon cat. It was the kind of cutesy avatar all the kids use. Our own daughter had a similar cartoon dog one. The thought that my husband’s lover was my daughter’s age made me feel even sicker. Just then, the shower stopped. I quickly put the watch back on the nightstand, slid under the covers, and pretended to be asleep. Marcus walked out, wrapped in a cloud of steam. The foul odor was temporarily masked by his body wash, but it was still there, seeping through. The mattress dipped on his side. I lay in the dark, my eyes wide open. 05 Who was “C-is-for-Courage”? I started running through a mental list. Names starting with C. Chris? Cole? Chloe? Wait. That new female student Marcus had brought on this year… her name was Chen. Chloe Chen. Marcus’s engineering department was a notorious boys’ club. He was famously sexist. I’d argued with him about it dozens of times. “Women are just as capable in STEM, Marcus. You can’t just dismiss them.” He’d scoff. “Their logic isn’t the same. They do fine in undergrad, but they can’t handle the pressure of real research.” He once said, “By the time a woman gets her PhD, she’s an old maid. Her mind isn’t on academics; it’s on finding a husband. It’s a waste of grant money.” Every student he ever mentored was male. But this year, he made an exception. He brought on a female student. Chloe Chen. And he wouldn’t stop praising her. “She’s meticulous in the lab,” he’d say. “Her data is perfectly organized. So much better than the sloppy boys.” At the time, I was relieved. I thought he’d finally overcome his prejudice. Now, I had to wonder. Was he really praising her academic skills? I pictured Chloe. A quiet girl, pale skin, always in a hoodie and black-rimmed glasses. She looked like the studious, serious type. I had even envied Marcus for finding such a good student. How ironic. Why? It’s hard enough for women in STEM. Why would she throw her career away on a shortcut that would only end up hurting her and every woman who came after her?

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Everyone knew Landon Hayes had boundaries. Sharp ones. Don’t get too close. Don’t touch his things. Even I, his girlfriend, was no exception. For years, I had navigated our relationship by carefully obeying his rules. Until Mimi arrived and shattered them all. I was following my long-established routine, leaving his packed lunch just outside his office door, when I saw her. Mimi, his new protégé, was pressed right up against him, playfully snatching at his phone. I clutched my hands, my wrist still swollen and throbbing from where he had gripped it too hard yesterday, just for accidentally brushing against that same phone. Silently, I spoke to the void. System, I want to go home. 1 I was in the middle of packing when Landon burst in, his face a mask of fury. “Where did you hide Mimi?” I froze. “What are you talking about?” “She’s missing!” he roared. “The security footage shows you two meeting yesterday afternoon. You slapped her, and then she vanished!” I looked down, continuing to fold my clothes into a suitcase. In all the years I’d known him, I had never seen him so unhinged. Seeing my silence, he lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. A sharp, searing pain shot through the swollen flesh, and I gasped. A flicker of something—pity? regret?—crossed his eyes, but he didn’t let go. His grip tightened. “Where is she? What did you say to her?” “Why don’t you ask what she said to me?” I shot back, my voice trembling. Landon barely contained his impatience. “What did she say?” “She said she had you wrapped around her little finger…” His hand cracked across my face. “Stella, this is a matter of life and death!” he snarled. “How dare you joke at a time like this!” I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth and laughed, a hollow, broken sound. Mimi was right. He would never believe me. “I’m not joking, Landon. And I’m leaving.” I was supposed to have late-stage cancer. The System told me that marrying Landon would cure me. After the wedding, I could choose to return to my own world or stay here. But somewhere along the way, something went terribly wrong. The tables turned. I fell for him. I loved watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. I loved that he always remembered our anniversaries, planning little surprises for me. As long as I followed his rules, we were, for all intents and purposes, a happy couple. Then Mimi showed up, and I learned the truth. The person he truly loved didn’t have to follow any rules at all. Landon stared at me, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Are you really pulling this again, Stella? Trying to get my attention?” “You were jealous, so you made Mimi disappear?” He let out a sigh that was meant to sound weary but was laced with contempt. “Stella, I already agreed to marry you. Why are you so threatened by a young girl?” “She’s young, and she’s brilliant,” he continued. “I’m mentoring her because she has talent. That’s all.” “Is this mentoring?” I asked, and before he could react, I closed the distance between us, my nose almost touching his chest. He recoiled instantly, a look of reflexive disgust on his face. A bitter smile touched my lips. Seven years. The only time we were ever close was when he initiated it. I remembered when my mother died, how I’d reached for him, desperate for comfort, only for him to push me away. “Stella, you know I have issues with personal space.” Right. A man with issues about personal space who lets his new protégé cover his eyes from behind to play “guess who?” Who lets her press against him, again and again, trying to snatch his phone. I’d even seen him, when she pouted in frustration, deliberately lower his hand so she could finally grab it. And then she would tap at the screen, trying password after password. “Professor,” she’d whine, “what’s your passcode?” I couldn’t watch it anymore. 2 He told me to stop making a scene. If Mimi wasn’t found, he wouldn’t marry me. “Okay,” I said. It didn’t matter anymore. Because Mimi had already told me her secret. She had a System, too. And if Landon married me, her System would erase her. My heart had turned to ice. I knew who Landon would choose, and it wouldn’t be me. The wedding was never going to happen. The System informed me that the process to send me home had already begun. As compensation for my efforts, it would petition the Main System for a bonus. I was about to thank it when Landon’s fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Stella, I’m giving you three days. If you don’t tell me where Mimi is, I’m done playing nice.” Threatening his girlfriend of seven years for a girl he barely knew. My answer was the same. “I don’t know where she is.” He dragged me to a storage room in the basement and threw me inside. The room was filled with terrifying, life-sized mannequins. I screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. He knew. He knew my deepest fears were ghosts and dolls. As I struggled to my feet, he kicked me hard in the chest, sending me sprawling. He produced a rope and tied my ankles together. “Three days, Stella,” he said, his voice cold as stone. “Tell me sooner, and I’ll let you out sooner.” My face was ashen. “Landon, she staged her own disappearance.” “Staged it?” he scoffed. “Do you think everyone is as manipulative as you are? Mimi’s time is valuable. And besides, she has no reason to be jealous of you.” I froze. He was right. She didn’t need to pull stunts to get his attention. She already had all of it. Landon tossed a crumpled note at my feet. It was in Mimi’s handwriting. “See for yourself. I want to know exactly what you said to her to make her this terrified.” I picked it up. Professor Hayes, I’m so sorry. I overstepped and made your fiancée angry. What she said to me… it was too much to bear. Please don’t force her to tell you where I am. Don’t worry about me. The paper was stained with what looked like tear drops. I couldn’t tell if they were Mimi’s or Landon’s. “And this note makes you think I’m responsible?” “Please,” he sneered. “You’re the one who faked a medical emergency, crying that you were dying, just to get me to come home. Is there anything you won’t do for attention, Stella?” I stared at him, stunned. The time I was hospitalized… he thought I was faking it. “Thankfully, Mimi saw right through you,” he continued. “If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve missed that critical conference.” 3 The heavy door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. As my eyes adjusted, they met the dead, staring eyes of a dozen mannequins. I squeezed my own eyes shut, scrambling into a corner and curling into a ball. Just sleep, I told myself. When you wake up, the System will have taken you home. But then, the mannequins started to move. Landon’s voice drifted from outside the door. “These were originally for a haunted house attraction. Congratulations, Stella. You’re the first to test them out.” They shuffled towards me, the sound of their gears grinding a horrifying mechanical symphony. “No! Landon, please! Let me out!” I screamed. The grinding stopped. “Are you finally ready to tell me where Mimi is?” he asked. I shook my head, sobbing. “I don’t know where she is, but—” “Hah. Unbelievable.” He’d only heard the first part. He flipped a switch, and the deafening noise of the machinery drowned out the rest of my words. I passed out from fear countless times. Each time, Landon would enter, hook me up to an IV drip, and splash cold water on my face to wake me, before sealing me in the dark once more. Eventually, my throat was too raw to make a sound. I was drenched in sweat, my mind a numb, vacant haze. Only then did he shut them off. “Three days are up,” he said, opening the door. “Are you ready to talk?” Three days. It had really been three days. I managed a ghastly smile. “Landon… can you hold me?” “If I hold you, will you tell me where she is?” I nodded. He rushed forward and pulled my limp, sweat-soaked body into his arms. I felt the familiar warmth and tried to press closer, greedy for one last moment. But he pushed me away, pulling out a sanitizing wipe and scrubbing his hands with a look of disgust. “Alright. Start talking.” I laughed. “Landon, today was supposed to be our wedding day. Why don’t we get married? Maybe then Mimi will come back.” He froze, then his face contorted with rage. “How dare you mock me, Stella!” he roared. “I can’t believe how inhuman you are. A person’s life is at stake, and all you can think about is getting married?” “I’ve already called and postponed the ceremony.” “And let me tell you,” he spat, “until Mimi is found, it will stay postponed. Forever.” I was certain my plan would work. One hundred percent certain. But he didn’t believe me. He called for his lab assistant. “Take her to the Memory Extraction Device,” he commanded coldly. “I’m going to see for myself how this vicious bitch drove Mimi away.” The assistant blanched. “Professor Hayes, please reconsider! That device is still in the experimental phase. It could cause irreversible damage, or even kill her! We’ve never tested it on a human subject—” Landon cut him off with a chilling smile. “No better time to start. She can be our first guinea pig.” 4 I was too weak to resist. He strapped me into the chair with ease. He picked up a metal helmet, bristling with wires and needles. Just before placing it on my head, he gave me one last chance. “Stella, just tell me the truth. Stop lying and tell me where Mimi is.” “Otherwise,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion, “the probe needles and chemical solution inside this helmet will pierce your brain, extracting your memories by force. It will strip you of all dignity. The pain will be unbearable.” A faint, tragic smile touched my lips. “Landon, I’ve already told you everything I know. You’re the one who refuses to believe me.” “Stubborn to the end.” He forced my thumb onto the inkpad and pressed it onto a waiver. If anything happened to me, he wouldn’t be held responsible. He was so afraid of missing a single clue that could lead him to Mimi that he called in the entire lab staff. They were to watch the large screen where my memories would be projected for all to see. A kind-faced graduate student spoke up. “Professor… maybe we should just call the police. This project really isn’t ready…” Landon’s smile was cruel. “Can the police pry open her skull and see what she said to Mimi that day? Begin.” The helmet was locked into place. Thousands of tiny needles sank into my scalp. I screamed, but my voice was a shredded, inhuman croak, like the rasp of a demon clawing its way out of hell. It sent a shudder through the room. The screen flickered to life. An image appeared. It was Landon, at twenty-two. The day he agreed to be my boyfriend. Before I could even celebrate, he laid down the law. “Even though you’re my girlfriend, I expect you to respect my boundaries.” I remember being taken aback, but I nodded. The scene shifted. My own suppressed sobs filled the room. “Landon, my mom’s gone. I don’t have a mother anymore.” He hung up and rushed to my side. I reached for him, needing to be held, but he hesitated, taking a step back. Seeing the state I was in, he finally relented and pulled me into a stiff embrace. In the days after her funeral, I was plagued by nightmares of demons dragging me to hell. I ran to his room, begging to sleep with him. He sighed and pulled back the covers. He placed a pillow between us like a barrier, but he let me hold his hand. In that moment, I believed I was different. Special. He had broken his own rules for me. As he slept, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Landon,” I whispered, “we’ll get married someday, right? And when we do… you won’t need all these boundaries with me anymore, will you?” In the lab, the real Landon scowled. “Why is it pulling up this useless garbage?” he snapped. “I want to see the day she drove Mimi away!” The assistant sighed. “Professor, a person’s mind isn’t a computer. We can’t just search for a specific date.” Landon strode over to me. “Stella, focus. Think about what happened a few days ago. If you don’t, this is going to get much, much worse for you.” I said nothing. The System had already told me the transfer was complete. I would be going home today. My silence enraged him. “Increase the intensity!” he ordered. “I want to see memories related to Mimi!” The needles dug deeper. A choked, guttural sound escaped my throat. The image on the screen changed. After a few flickers, Mimi’s face appeared. Landon’s eyes widened. “Mimi!” he breathed. On the screen, Mimi was smiling as she knocked on my door, a slice of cream cake in her hand. “Miss Stella? You must be the Professor’s girlfriend. I’m his new protégé.” “Oh, hello.” “Professor Hayes said he was too busy to see you today, but he wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” I took the cake, thanking her for coming all this way. “You really shouldn’t have. He could have just sent a courier.” She puffed out her chest proudly. “He said he didn’t trust a courier, so he sent me instead.” That was the first time we met. I liked her. We even exchanged numbers. I had no reason to be suspicious as I ate the cake. Outside the screen, Landon sighed wistfully. “She was such a good kid. She knew I’d forgotten your birthday, so she ordered a cake and brought it to you herself.” He turned to me, his voice dripping with accusation. “And this is the sweet, kind girl you decided to terrorize?” Despite the agony, I found the strength to smile at him, gesturing for him to keep watching. On screen, I lit a candle on the cake and made a wish. I hope… I hope Landon and I can get married this year. Because my time is running out. I took a bite of the cake. Then another. Suddenly, I was clutching my throat, gasping for air. A violent rash erupted on my arms and legs. I collapsed to the floor. My first instinct was to call him. “Landon,” I rasped into the phone, “I think I’m dying. Help me…” 5 Landon froze. From the other end of the line, Mimi’s voice chirped, “Professor, we’re about to board. Who are you talking to?” “It’s Stella. I think something’s wrong.” “That’s impossible. She was fine when I gave her the cake. Oh, I get it. She’s just trying to guilt you into spending her birthday with her. Don’t fall for it.” Mimi’s voice was full of certainty. And Landon believed her. “Stella, be good,” he soothed. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We’ll celebrate your birthday then.” The line went dead. My vision blurred, and the world faded to black. Watching this, Landon looked at me in disbelief. “Stella… you have an allergy?” Before I could answer, the female grad student spoke up, her eyes red. “Professor, it must have been the cake!” “How could it be… When Mimi offered to remember your birthday for me, I specifically told her you were allergic to mango…” Landon sank into a chair, muttering, still trying to deceive himself. “She must have forgotten. Yes, that’s it. She just forgot.” “Keep going,” he ordered. Luckily, a delivery driver who had a package for me saw me through the window and called an ambulance. I was rushed to the hospital. When I woke up, the doctor’s face was grave. “Young lady, did you know you have a severe mango allergy? You nearly died.” Tears streamed down my face as I clutched my phone, scrolling through my old messages with Landon. But there were no new ones from him. Instead, a message from Mimi popped up. It was a photo of her holding Landon’s phone. [Guess what Professor Hayes’s passcode is, Stella?] My hand tightened around my phone. Landon never let anyone touch his phone. Ever. I bit my lip, refusing to reply. But she was persistent. She called me. I heard her sweet, girlish voice on the other end. “Professor… what’s your passcode? Can I… can I change it to my birthday?” Then, Landon’s voice, laced with a soft chuckle. “Go ahead, if you want.” “But… won’t Stella be angry if she finds out?” “She won’t. She never touches my phone. And besides, she wouldn’t pick a fight with a kid like you.” “Are you sure it’s okay for us to share a hotel room? It’s all my fault for not booking one in advance.” “Don’t overthink it. I’ll sleep on the couch. I have work to do, make yourself at home.” Even after he said he was busy, Mimi kept chattering in his ear, and he would give soft, distracted replies. If it had been me, I would never have dared to disturb him while he was working. By the time I hung up, my face was soaked with tears. Landon’s expression was grim. He hadn’t known Mimi was on the phone with me. He turned, meeting my weak, mocking gaze. Then, inexplicably, he got angry first. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you?” My voice was a reedy whisper. The pain in my head was a dull, throbbing numbness. “Would you have believed me?” The assistant rushed to my side, checking my vitals. “Professor! Her body is at its limit! We have to stop!” Landon was silent for a moment. Then, “Continue.” I knew then. Once he set his mind to something, there was no turning back. Even if I died in this chair, he would just dissect my brain and keep searching. This time, the current that shot through my head made my eyes roll back. My body convulsed, drool spilling from the corner of my mouth. I must have looked hideous. Many in the room turned away, unable to watch. I could feel my life draining away. The memories on the screen began to flash by like a sped-up film. Most of them were of Landon’s back. Me, watching him from a distance. But slowly, a new, bright figure appeared at his side. I remembered someone joking once, “Professor, you and Mimi make a perfect couple.” The words had haunted me ever since.

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My mother died of pure shock. She died because she watched the wedding that was supposed to be mine unfold with a different bride at the altar—Todd’s business partner. The moment my mother took her last breath, my wedding became her funeral. But Todd ordered the reception to continue. He demanded that I personally place the wedding ring on Nora’s finger. “Do it,” he hissed, his jaw tight. “Put the ring on her. I’ll explain later tonight.” I ignored the fury in his eyes, gathered my mother’s lifeless body in my arms, and walked out of the hotel. At eight o’clock that night, the wedding with the substitute bride concluded “perfectly.” Nora posted on her Instagram, and it was liked by hundreds of thousands. Hehe! Finally married the light of my life today! A big thank you to the third wheel for finally realizing her place and leaving. Todd immediately followed up with his own post: Some people just aren’t worthy of love. From the cold silence of the city morgue, I liked both their posts and left a single comment: “May you last forever.” Then I collected my mother’s ashes and went home to pack. Only to find Todd and Nora locked in a passionate kiss on the new sofa I had bought for our married life. 1 It was late when I finally got home, exhausted, clutching the urn that held my mother. The moonlight was bone-chillingly cold. As I reached the door, I saw them: Nora’s high heels, placed right where the lady of the house would leave them. It wasn’t the first time she’d been here. For the past three years, ever since Nora became a senior partner at Stone Enterprises, she had used “business meetings” as an excuse to come over at all hours. Early morning, late at night, even in the middle of a torrential downpour—nothing could dampen her “professional ambition.” I used to fight him on it. Todd’s response was always the same: I needed to know my place. “When the company makes money,” he’d say, “you’re the one who gets to sit around and do nothing. You’re the one who benefits.” When I brought it up again, he would shut me out, giving me the silent treatment for days until I broke down and apologized. I still loved him then, so I’d tell myself it was okay. But all that self-deception got me was this small, light box of ashes in my hands. A cold, bitter laugh escaped me as I walked in. The first thing I saw was Todd and Nora on the sofa I had chosen for our new life together, locked in a heated kiss. Under the dim light, Nora’s pale skin was flushed, her body draped over Todd’s as if she didn’t have a bone in it. She was clearly drunk. When he saw me, Todd’s eyes flickered to the urn in my hands before he gently pushed Nora off him, carefully setting her down on the cushions. “So, she’s actually dead,” he said, his voice a low drawl. “Not just putting on a show.” He looked down his nose at me, his tone a mockery of comfort laced with sharp impatience. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene? Fine. I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I feel guilty. Happy now?” I just stared at him, a laugh bubbling up, sharp and painful. When my mother collapsed, he’d accused her of faking it, saying it would be better if she just died for real. He’d ordered the wedding to proceed. Now that his wish had come true, this was his version of guilt. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I was finally marrying the man I’d loved for twenty years, the boy I grew up with. And I had another, even bigger surprise planned for him. Todd had a condition that made the odds of him having a child less than one in a million. His greatest dream was to be a father. The entire Stone family had moved heaven and earth, praying for a miracle. His grandmother had even devoted her life to a convent, praying day and night for an heir. But somehow, by what felt like a karmic reward for all my years as a doctor, I was pregnant with his child. The confirmation, the ultrasound report that was meant to be his greatest gift, was folded in my pocket. Now, just looking at his face made my stomach turn. My voice was eerily calm when I spoke. “Todd. We’re done.” I watched his eyes widen in shock as I delivered the final blow. “From this moment on, I hope we never see each other again until the day we die.” The love I had for him died with my mother. I was going to leave quietly tonight, out of respect for his grandmother, who had always treated me like her own flesh and blood. But he had just crossed a line. “Isn’t my guilt enough for you? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?” His hand shot out, his fingers digging into my arm. He stared at me, his jaw clenched just as it had been when he’d ordered me to put the ring on Nora’s finger. “You need to learn your place, Mia.” I didn’t want to engage. I wrenched my arm free and turned to gather my mother’s belongings. I just wanted to get away from these two monsters. But then, Nora stirred on the sofa and sat up. Her eyes landed on the urn. “Oh?” she said, her voice a theatrical gasp. “Is that your mother in there?” “My goodness, she’s really gone? I’m so, so sorry, Mia.” Her feigned sympathy vanished in an instant. She turned to Todd, her voice becoming a sickly-sweet whine. “Todd! I absolutely love that urn! My little dog died yesterday, could you ask Mia to give it to me? The poor thing deserves a nice box, don’t you think? Please?” I stared at her, my mind reeling in disbelief. But Todd was already reaching for the urn. “Give it to me,” he commanded. “It’s the perfect size for a dog.” 2 Todd was strong. As I felt my mother’s urn slipping from my grasp, about to be desecrated for his so-called “dog,” a primal instinct took over. I lunged forward and sank my teeth into his wrist. The coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth, so vile it made me want to retch. “You bitch!” His face twisted into a mask of fury. The slap came fast and hard, a brutal crack against my cheek. As I fell, my only thought was to shield the urn, cradling it tightly to my chest. My head, however, slammed into the sharp corner of the coffee table. “Todd!” Nora rushed to his side, fussing over his hand before glaring at me. “Mia, why would you bite him? He cares about you so much! It’s just an urn. Don’t you think he would have gotten your mother a much better one later?” Clutching my mother’s ashes, I struggled to my feet. A warm trickle of blood ran down my face, dripping onto the polished wood of the urn. My mother had adored me. But the person she’d loved most in this world, even more than me, was the man standing before me. In that moment, something inside me shattered. “He cares about me?” I shrieked. “He cares, so he replaces me at my own wedding and scares my mother to death?” “Don’t you forget, Todd! Don’t you forget what my mother did for you! Who was it that ran into a burning building to save you when you were seven, scarring her own face to pull you out!” “Now I just want to leave. Get out of my way!” “Enough!” Todd strode forward, his hand clamping around my throat, and slammed me against the wall. A crushing pressure stole my breath, but it was his next words, roared into my face, that truly suffocated me. “Mia!” He squeezed harder, his features contorted with rage. “How long are you going to hold that ancient history over my head? You have this life, isn’t that enough?!” He forced the last words through gritted teeth. “What right do you have to talk about leaving? I already said I feel guilty. Don’t push your fucking luck!” My face was turning purple. Tears mixed with the blood streaming from my head. I didn’t dare fight back with my hands. I was terrified that if I let go, my mother’s ashes would fall. She had suffered enough in life. I wouldn’t let her be hurt in death. Just as my vision started to black out, Nora drifted over. She didn’t try to stop him. She just watched, her voice dripping with false concern. “Mia, Todd does love you. He only married me because everyone agrees we’re a better match. Our union will make the company’s stock price soar.” “But he told me,” she cooed, “that in private, you’ll always be the real Mrs. Stone.” “He’s already sacrificing so much. Why can’t you and your mother just try to understand him instead of getting hung up on formalities?” Her words were gasoline on a fire. I felt Todd’s rage spike. “Mia! Why can’t you be more like Nora? Why can’t you ever just understand?” The pressure on my throat intensified, his knuckles turning white. “Apologize to Nora,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “And I promise you, outside of public events, you will always be the lady of this house.” Just as I was about to pass out, he released me. I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air as he stared down at me with a look of pity, of charity, of absolute command. A volcano of fury erupted inside me, tearing through every cell in my body. “Todd! I told you! I don’t want it!” I scrambled into the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife, and charged at them. “I was just going to leave,” I screamed, “but now I want you dead!” My attack was the final trigger. Todd’s own control snapped completely. He shoved Nora behind him and, with a furious roar, kicked out. His foot slammed into my stomach. Right where his child, the child he’d longed for, was growing. The force sent me flying backward into a bookshelf. A pain so sharp and absolute it stole my breath exploded in my abdomen. A hot, crimson flood gushed down my legs, pooling beneath me in a horrifyingly bright red stain. 3 I was paralyzed in a pool of my own blood, my body a symphony of agony. But the sharpest pain came from my belly, from the place where a tiny life had just begun. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and tears blurred my vision. Clutching my mother’s urn, I looked at Todd, standing cold and distant across the room. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. My hand trembled as I reached for my stomach. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat out a mouthful of blood. The sight made Nora shriek and cling to Todd’s arm, her delicate features a mask of horror. “What are you playing at, Mia?” Todd sneered, his face dark with contempt. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and began fastidiously wiping a drop of my blood from his shoe. “I barely touched you. Stop acting like you’re dying.” Nora’s eyes welled with tears as she looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Todd! Do you think… do you think she’s pregnant? Look at all that blood… it’s so disgusting, oh!” She covered her mouth and made a show of gagging. The act was so transparently fake, but Todd fell for it completely. He gently patted her back. “If it disgusts you, then don’t look.” His gaze shifted to me, his disgust just as palpable. “Her? Pregnant? If she were…” He let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Please. The whole world would know about it. She’d be using it as leverage for a better deal.” His voice dripped with scorn, the poison of his words filling the room. “She’s a manipulative bitch… always has been.” Just as he finished, another cramp, more violent than the last, seized me. It was a pain that bored through my skin, pierced my bones, and seared my very soul. It felt as if tiny hands were twisting every nerve in my body, my baby’s last, furious protest against its own destruction. I coughed again, harder this time. A bloody, broken laugh escaped my lips. “Todd… look…” My hand shook as I reached into my pocket. With fingers slick with the blood of our child, I pulled out the crumpled ultrasound report. I held it out to him. “Look at this… and then I’m leaving.” “And I wish you two a long and miserable life together.”

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When the heir to the Thorne fortune, Julian Thorne, broke up with me, I cried my eyes out. He frowned, annoyed. “Are you really this in love with me?” Then he wired me ten million dollars as a breakup fee. I covered my mouth and ran away, sobbing. Everyone thought I was hopelessly devoted to him, a pathetic, obsessed simp. Until that night. My Finsta account was accidentally exposed. @NotYourBabe: “He’s as cold as a fish and as stubborn as a mule.” @NotYourBabe: “God, this idiot is so annoying.” @NotYourBabe: “FINALLY. Free at last,嘻嘻.” Julian, his face blank, crushed the glass in his hand. He sent me a text. “I’ll give you another ten million.” “You’d better pray I don’t catch you.” 1 Three weeks of dating, and Julian texted me to end it. I couldn’t just let it go. I ran to confront him. The VIP section of the club was dark and loud. In front of all his friends, I bit my lip, my voice cracking. “Babe, are you really doing this?” Julian leaned back on the velvet couch, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Yeah. We’re done.” His voice was as cool as his posture. “No, please. Tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it.” I was pathetic, crying like a fool. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. A few seconds of silence. Julian scowled and stubbed out his cigarette. He looked at my tear-filled eyes, a flicker of annoyance and… confusion… in his. “Are you really this in love with me?” I nodded, tears streaming. “More than anything, babe.” His scowl deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line. A moment later, my phone buzzed. A bank alert: $10,000,000.00. Julian looked away, his voice cold as he dismissed me. “That’s for your trouble. Forget me.” 2 For a second, all the color drained from my face. My body swayed. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” A fresh tear rolled down my cheek. I covered my mouth and ran, feeling the pitying stares of everyone in the booth. Behind me, I vaguely heard someone say, “Damn, Julian, paying her off like that? That’s brutal. A total humiliation for her.” “She looked like she was about to shatter.” “Should I go get the money back?” Julian’s voice, hesitant, drifted after me. …I ran faster. The night air was cold. I squatted under a streetlight, my face buried in my hands, eyelashes still damp. The System cleared its throat in my head. [Hey, kid. Don’t take it too hard. At least the mission is complete.] I lowered my hands and looked at the scrape on my arm. I got it a few days ago, tripping while bringing Julian his stupid craft-brewed-by-Tibetan-monks coffee. “Did I look like I was about to shatter?” I asked, my voice flat. “God, I feel so… misunderstood.” […What?] “Like a nun being accused of running a brothel,” I clarified. […] 3 The System finally rebooted. [Wait… you were faking it?!] “How’d I do? Oscar-worthy, right?” I stood up and stretched, the “heartbreak” gone. I’d died in a spectacular and embarrassing accident (don’t ask). A ‘Love System’ snagged my soul and brought me here, promising to send me back to my life if I completed one task: Successfully “conquer” a top-tier, high-quality man and stay in a relationship with him for at least three weeks. It picked the target for me: Julian Thorne. Heir to the Thorne conglomerate. Handsome, rich, and emotionally unavailable. Difficulty: five stars. I’d spent months trying to crack his code. I was relentless, devoted, playing the part of a woman desperately in love. Even the System thought my performance was real. But Julian remained a block of ice. Then, for no reason I could figure out, he suddenly agreed to date me. He was still cold. Wouldn’t even hold my hand. The entire relationship was me, the “obsessed simp,” doing all the work. Whatever. It didn’t matter. I pulled out my phone and smiled at the bank alert. “Hey, System? Can I take the cash with me?” [No.] …Great. All that acting. For nothing. 4 The System said it would take a few days to upload the mission data. Since I couldn’t keep the money, I decided to spend it. I rented a supercar. I moved into a glass-walled penthouse. I bought out half of Rodeo Drive. I was living my best, most obnoxious rich-person life. Tonight, I’d dressed to kill and gone clubbing. Coming out of the bathroom, I ran straight into one of Julian’s friends. “Nina? You here to see Julian?” “Nope, nope. We’re done, remember?” I tried to sidestep him. “Ouch. Rough, Nina. I’m sorry.” He gave me this pitying look, like he knew I was just putting on a brave face. “Hey, his childhood friend Chloe just flew in. We’re all in the VIP for her welcome-home party. C’mon, I’ll get you in.” He grabbed my arm and started pulling me, ignoring my protests. In the booth, Julian’s head snapped up. His face was tense. A very cute, bubbly girl was sitting right next to him. “You must be the ex-girlfriend,” she chirped. Then her face soured. “You pathetic simp. You deserved to get dumped. You’re not good enough for him. Stay away from Julian.” 5 “Sure, honey. You’re the one. You’re totally the one.” “Life is so boring, and then a toad hops up to critique a human.” My mission was over. I was done being nice. I plopped down on the couch, crossed my legs, and poured myself a drink. Chloe looked like I’d slapped her. She clutched her chest and fell sideways into Julian. “Julessss, she’s being mean to me.” Julian’s face darkened. He stood up. “Nina!” He looked like he was about to defend his precious Chloe. Chloe, having missed her target, stood up and tried to grab his arm. “Jules…” But Julian abruptly sat back down. He just stared at me, his face impassive, and said, “That was uncalled for.” …That’s it? The tension was so thick, one of his friends tried to break it. “Hey, c’mon, we’re all friends. Drink up!” “Chloe, don’t mind her, she’s just heartbroken.” “But she was mean to me first!” Chloe whined, her eyes filling with tears. She was so aggressively stupid, it was almost impressive. “Talking to you is a waste of my time. I’d rather be scrolling Twitter,” I said. “It’s one thing to play dumb, but don’t overdo it. You’re like a glitching NPC with amnesia.”

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